Falling (Sherlock's POV)
by Amiyrasmom
Summary: What was Sherlock thinking during the events of Falling? Companion story to Falling.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock knew to the second when John had figured it out. To tell the truth he was slightly disappointed. He'd expected more fireworks. He'd expected John to gasp and then run from the room to go somewhere to think, to obsess, and to just figure out what he was going to do now that his whole sexual identity was called into question.

All he got was a half second panic attack and then nothing. John calmly went back to his newspaper. Why did John always surprise him so? Why did he never react the way Sherlock thought he would?

Sherlock had been agonizing over his own feelings, feelings he could have sworn were non-existent, since the Pool. Oh, he'd known almost from the instant he'd met John that he would love him. He'd just been unaware of exactly how much the other man would come to mean to him until stupid Moriarty tried to blow them up.

So Sherlock was agonizing over what it meant and what was going to change now. And sweet, dependable, funny, loyal John? Well, he was being infuriatingly unpredictable! Instead of hysterics and denial and whatever else straight men did when they figured out that they were gay, John calmly accepted it and moved on!

What was Sherlock supposed to do now? Tell John that he knew that John was in love with him? Right, that would be an extremely bad idea. No one ever liked it when he showed off his deductive skills. Well, no one but John. This was different though. What if John didn't want him to know? What if he wasn't ready for a relationship yet?

Normally he let John's reactions guide him. John was far better with human interaction than he was. Well, then, he'd just do the same here. He would wait until John made the first move and then he'd respond and they'd live forever, together. That was the most sensible plan. Now then, that bit of cat hair on the victim's uncle's trousers; that was suspicious.

The victim didn't have a cat, nor did the uncle. But the victim's boyfriend did! Aha! So the uncle was shagging the boyfriend. Now did they conspire to kill the victim together? Need more data.

"Come, John, we must go talk to the uncle again." Sherlock jumped up off the couch and headed for the door.

"Of course, Sherlock," John set aside his paper and stood. "Er, why?"

"Cat hair, John!" Sherlock called back as he loped out the door and down the stairs. "Do keep up!"


	2. Angelo's

**Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine...darn it!**

Angelo's

Somehow it seemed they ended up at Angelo's at least twice a week. Sherlock was sure it was because John knew that pasta was the one food he'd happily eat once he'd finished a case. The post case high always made him hungry. Granted it usually lasted for less than an hour but John always seemed to get them into the comfort of Angelo's before his hunger could fade.

Not even Mycroft with his CCTV's and spies knew Sherlock that well. Only John. And somehow Angelo's had become their spot. John had never even thought to bring one of his many women here. Sherlock wasn't exactly sure why that made him happy, only that it did. Those women didn't belong here.

Sherlock grinned while he explained all his deductions to John. He was always such a good audience. The way his eyes lit up when Sherlock disparaged Anderson and that engaging smirk over the look on Anderson's face. John was perfect in every way.

"Sherlock?" John asked quietly.

For a split second Sherlock's brain did something it had never done before. It stopped. Then it raced as fast as it ever had. Now? He was going to tell him. Right now? Here? Well, it was rather appropriate. What did he do? What did he say? Acknowledge him! His brain screamed. Sherlock had done some research. The internet had everything after all. The sites all agreed that he needed to acknowledge John in some way.

"Yes, John." It was an answer. It was acknowledgement. It was reassurance. It was…

"I…that was amazing."

Wrong! It was wrong. John wasn't supposed to say that. He was supposed to say that he loved Sherlock. How disappointing. Sherlock felt his appetite disappearing.


	3. The Flat

**Disclaimer: Not mine no matter how much I wish. Stupid stars get your hopes up and then dash them every morning.**

The Flat

Sherlock was trying to find the missing piece to the puzzle of the dead decorator and John's staring was distracting him. Why was John staring? He knew John was in love with him but he'd paced this way hundreds of times and John had never stared at him with such intensity before. Sherlock continued to pace and run through all the clues at top speed trying to solve both the crime and the mystery of John's staring. Really though the Work had to take top priority at the moment.

Maybe John had seen something he hadn't. It happened far more often than people thought. Or he'd repeat the evidence in such a way that it made a different connection obvious, which happened even more often.

"What do you think, John? Do you think the brother was resentful enough to kill his sister?" Sherlock asked.

No answer. Sherlock stopped his pacing and stared at his flatmate. "John?" No answer again. "John." He called his name a bit louder. "John!" He finally shouted. "Are you even listening to me?"

John started as though he'd been off in his own thoughts and then grinned. Actually grinned at Sherlock. "Nope. Can't understand a thing you're saying when you talk so fast, Sherlock."

Sherlock scowled. He hated when he did that. John was the only one who ever called him on it too. Everyone else either nodded like they understood or treated him like a freak. Well, that explained the intense stare then. John was trying to work out what he'd said while at the same time not interrupting him. "I was saying that it has to be the brother because the victim wasn't married, according to her neighbors she had no boyfriend and most thought she was a lesbian and yet there was men's cologne in her bathroom and men's shirts in her closet."

Sherlock heard the small chuckle and knew that John was saluting him with his tea cup. He always did.

The air in the room changed, became charged with something, but Sherlock shook it off. He had to solve this first and then he could deal with John and his inability to form a simple sentence.


	4. The Cab

**Disclaimer: Nope. Still not mine.**

The Cab

Sherlock was in an excellent mood. He had his blogger and a triple murder inside Westminster Abbey. Life couldn't get much better than this. Well, it could if John would just, what was that saying? Oh, yes, if John would just pull his thumb out and get on with telling Sherlock that he loved him then life would be absolutely perfect.

Sherlock observed that intense stare in the reflection of John's face in the window. Oh. Superb. He was finally going to say the words. Excellent. Brilliant. He watched cautiously as John drew a deep breath.

"Sherlock?" John's voice filled the silence of the cab. It was startling and made Sherlock realize he was holding his breath.

"Yes, John." Sherlock feared his own voice was breathy.

"I…" Had that croak of a sound truly come from his unflappable little soldier? "I…um…" Really what was wrong with John? This was becoming increasingly frustrating.

"Yes, John." Sherlock gritted his teeth. He turned to look at John but the other man's gaze didn't leave the reflection in the window. He heard John's sigh and nearly sighed himself.

"Where are we going again?" John asked.

Now Sherlock did sigh. Where had his brave soldier gone? "Westminster Abbey, John."

"Oh. Right." John nodded and they both returned to staring out the windows into the rainy London night.

Sherlock's good mood had evaporated.


	5. The Surgery

**Disclaimer: They do not belong to me. Sherlock and co. belong to ACD and BBC. Initails are cool.**

The Surgery

John was gone. Where had he gone? Sherlock reviewed the files in his mind and remembered that it was Wednesday. John was at work. Blast! Why did John have to work? It wasn't fair. He needed John here. He wanted tea and nobody made tea better than John. He should text him to come home and make tea.

No, John would be angry at him if he did that, again. He could make his own tea. It wouldn't be as good but he'd drink it anyway.

Sherlock put the kettle on and then opened the refrigerator to get the milk. There wasn't any. Damn! He'd have to text John to pick up some more. He flipped the kettle off and flopped onto the couch.

Suddenly his body jackknifed up. Clever blogger. John knew he preferred to text. John was going to tell him by text. Extraordinary. Clever John. So very unexpectedly clever. Sherlock chuckled and grabbed his phone from the table by the couch.

_TEXT from: Sherlock_

_To: John_

_Yes, John. We're out of milk._

_-SH_

There, Sherlock flopped back down bonelessly. That should do it. Now, John could tell him without worrying about whatever it was that was holding him back. He gave himself a satisfied smile and waited impatiently for the text.

Moments later he scrambled for the phone as it bleeped for a text received. His fingers had faint tremors as he opened the text. Here it was, finally.

_TEXT from: John_

_To: Sherlock_

_I'll pick some up on my way home. Anything else?_

Where was the rest? Where was his 'I love you'? Sherlock tossed the phone back on the table and slumped down. This was so very irritating. One more week, he decided. He'd give John one more week to come clean and then he'd just grab the ex-soldier and snog him to within an inch of his life. He nodded to himself. That would work. Only one more week then.


	6. The Crime Scene

**Disclaimer: Yeah they're still not mine. Darn it!**

**A/N: Warnings for a few curse words. I'm not sure if they even really count but I thought I'd warn you just in case.**

The Crime Scene

Anderson was being a dick, again. Nothing new about that but this was a whole new level of idiocy.

"Really, Anderson, how could you miss a neon green sweater in a closet full of browns and blues? Every time I see you your idiocy amazes me more than the last time. Seriously were you last in your forensics class? A colorblind child could have picked that up." Sherlock knew exactly how cutting his voice was and he reveled in Anderson's splutters of denial.

"Sherlock," John's voice intruded on his diatribe. It wasn't his angry voice though so that was alright. Wait, now? Was he finally going to say it? Here, in front of all of New Scotland Yard? No, that couldn't be it.

"Yes, John." He said anyway, just in case. "Shut up, Anderson. You're dragging even John's intelligence down and that's hard to do."

John's sudden stillness and silence showed Sherlock that John had not taken that comment the way it had been meant. He'd meant that John's intelligence was so solid that even Anderson's black hole of stupidity couldn't touch it but evidently John thought he was calling him stupid, again. And with the emotional turmoil of the last few weeks John's system couldn't take it.

"John?" Sherlock asked quietly, briefly glancing away from Anderson. He was shocked and angry at the depression now rolling off of John.

John gave him a weak, sheepish smile. "Sorry, Sherlock, I forgot what I was going to say."

Sherlock knew that for a lie, but he let it pass because John looked like a kicked puppy. He turned his ire to the proper target. "See what you've done, Anderson? Bravo!" Now John was never going to say the words. Sherlock had wanted to give John the chance but now Anderson had ruined it all. Stupid Anderson! Two more days and then Sherlock would take the situation into his own hands. Two more days and then John was going to get snogged like he'd never been snogged before. Sherlock watched with a frown as John looked down at his feet and avoided his gaze.

Damn Anderson anyway!


	7. The Chase

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**A/N: So this is it. The End. The very last chapter in Falling, of both versions. Hope you all enjoyed it, I know I did. Thanks for reading.**

The Chase

It had been a long, hard chase but Sherlock and John had finally caught the killer. They'd run over at least half of London but they'd managed it. Sherlock was out of breath but so was the suspect so it evened out. Sherlock hadn't even had to fight the man. He'd just tackled him and the suspect was so tired from running that he didn't even try to get up. Sherlock sat on him anyway. Grinning with the thrill of the chase and the high of having solved another case he pulled out his phone to text Lestrade to come arrest his killer.

What was that? Had John just said what he thought he had? Sherlock looked up. John was leant against the wall of the alley attempting to catch his breath. There was no evidence of the words that still lingered in the air and found their way into his bloodstream and made a home of their own inside his heart. Sherlock was positive John had said them, though.

Sherlock sent John a bright, happy smile. "Yes, John," he said and then went back to his text. The faster Lestrade got here the faster they could go home and explore this new level of their relationship. Sherlock couldn't wait.

Lestrade had finally shown up and carted the suspect away. John swallowed so hard as the police cars drove off that Sherlock could hear him from five feet away. He almost laughed. Instead he turned his head and took in the fearful look on his best friend's face. "I've always loved you, John." He told him in order to acknowledge, reassure and just generally let John know that he wasn't alone anymore.

Finally John acted in a predictable way. The infuriatingly, boring, unpredictable, utterly perfect man grinned. So Sherlock pulled him into his arms, pushed him up against the alley wall and snogged him for all he was worth.


End file.
